


Wordless

by SilverQueensGoldfinch



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Haphephobia, Institute of War, Introspection, Mentions of Violence, One Shot, Shameless Smut, Spanking, Srsly I don't want to tag how they are getting it on, most explicit thing I've yet dared to post
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 17:24:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20642915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverQueensGoldfinch/pseuds/SilverQueensGoldfinch
Summary: Talon Du Couteau, the Blade's Shadow, ruthless Noxian assassin and one of the world's greatest blademasters, had never in his twenty or thirty-something years of life been touched in kindness.





	Wordless

**Author's Note:**

> Hi :)
> 
> This story is a little different, for one of my friends sent the first version to me, asking me to add my "own flavor" (whatev she means with that…) to it. She is a little bit shy and wanted me to post this –here you see me obeying.
> 
> It is different from Steps Measured and contains how I would have liked to deal with Talon's reaction to touches, had I been able to do so at the beginning of my "career".
> 
> I would love to hear what you think, as this is not mine alone – and really different.

Talon Du Couteau, the Blade's Shadow, ruthless Noxian assassin and one of the world's greatest blademasters, had never in his twenty or thirty-something years of life been touched in kindness. Raising himself on the streets, physical contact had been sparse and never pleasant. He had killed the only one trying to stretch out his hand in friendship, but had never been held in love. His initiation into the most notorious family of assassins had been as violent as his upbringing and the coldness of the streets had been replaced with training and discipline. Even physical contact with the woman he called sister was limited to knife-fights in the training halls and fist jabs in between assignments.

Talon had been struck, kicked, stabbed, tortured and on one memorable occasion, electrocuted, but had never been patted, caressed or even had his hand held.

In return Talon had struck, stabbed, tortured and once set fire to an unlucky fool, but never patted, never caressed, never touched with kindness.

Talon fucked as he lived. Sex was a violent affair driven by pain and degradation, worsened by his nature. Immersed in pain his entire life, Talon came to realize early on that skin on skin contact with another caused his nerves to flare and his muscles to contract. It pained him to be touched, his body reacting much the same as when he was under attack.

Which explained why he remained completely clothed and hooded during intercourse, releasing only his cock to find his biologically driven release as quickly as possible.

It did not explain why he pinned this particular piece of luscious, naked female flesh beneath him, one hand trapping her wrists above her head while his other, gloved hand brushed away the cascade of blonde hair sticking to her breasts. His hand lingered to pinch her nipples until they turned from a pretty pale pink to a garish swollen red.

When she bucked her hips, mewling little cries begging for more, he soothed his hand down the pale expanse of her soft belly to slide between her legs. Gently. More gently than he had ever touched another living creature, because the skin there was exquisitely delicate, and even though the dark leather of his gloves was expensively supple, he did not want to risk hurting her. Risk anything to dry up the sweet honey that dripped from her. Honey that dripped because he caressed and petted, not because he slapped and spanked.

Somehow his touches made her hotter and wetter than any female he had ever had before, and somehow that slick heat of hers had enthralled him. Enslaved him just as effectively as Marcus's victory over him. Marcus had been the first to give him a choice - servantry or death, but _she_ would not kill him. With her, he had a_ real_ choice. He could walk away at any time but, no matter how often he promised himself he would, the next night would find him standing over her bed, awakening her with a smooth glide of his covered hand over her naked skin.

They never spoke. That she had not donned sleeping raiment since their first night was consent enough.

She willingly took him however she could, and that female acquiescence alone triggered a primal male need to give her more.

Hence the touching, the petting, the long leisurely caresses. As he stared down at her, watching her arching to offer her pale, red-tipped breasts while she rode his fingers, an overwhelming desire to bend down and take the needily presented nipple in his mouth nearly buckled his knees.

Giving in to temptation, he flicked his tongue over her bud, almost too quick to get a taste, yet her breath stuttered, encouraging him on. Overwhelmed with the need to give her more, everything she could ever wish for, he suckled, nearly losing his newest treat when she arched with a ragged cry.

She ground down on his palm, coming hard around the three fingers deep inside her.

When she sank boneless and panting amid her sapphire silk sheets, her flushed skin gleaming in the moonlight, he jerked down his pants just enough to release his cock, hard and heavy in his hand.

Hunger darkened her eyes as she scrambled to her hands and knees, the position he insisted on so he could take her like an animal with as minimal contact as possible.

He lost the vision of her puffy nipples and her wet womanhood, and an old familiar anger surged inside him. Anger at denying himself, at refusing the luxury of freedom, at never having experienced the tenderness of touch.

With a rough hand on her softly rounded hip, he flipped her onto her back, ignoring her flared eyes as he nudged her thighs wide, revealing her perfect, drenched cunt.

Desire swelled, temping him to lean down and steal a taste, to see if she was as sweet as she smelled.

Anxiety held him back from what he wanted, forcing him to grab her by the arches of her feet and position her bent legs wide so he could kneel between her thighs without touching her. She planted her feet, her little toes curling into the sheets.

The sibilant sound she made sounded like consent and for once he wished she would speak. Say _yes_ or _please _or better yet, _Talon_. But like him, she never spoke, not here, not now.

In the harsh light of day, she hardly ever shut up. She spew her general, encouraging happiness at anyone without being asked. Empty phrases and positive announcements lobbed at him whenever they engaged in combat, they surrounded her when she pranced through the halls. Like the light she wielded, her sounds followed her everywhere. Oddly, she never complained of his treatment of her. That might be because beyond fighting on the fields, he did not engage her.

For all her loud positivity, nary a word was spoken between them of how they spent their evenings. It was almost as if they existed outside a moment of time. Their own decadent dimensional pocket where anything went.

Maybe even him using his mouth on her if he dared.

She reached for him and he tensed. The sex-satisfied curl of her lips disappeared as he gathered her wrists. She did not fight him when he pinned her again. She did not regain her smile either.

Another look lighted her eyes. A bright, hopeful challenge issued, but not accepted. Talon knew better. Give the woman an inch she would take a mile, all the while looking at him as if it was his own choice.

He pressed forward and his cloak slid over his side, the leather feathering over her flank, horripilating her skin at the contact. For a moment, he allowed the deadly garment to make up for the lack of touch, to slide over her skin where he was not able to do so. For a moment, he imagined it was his touch that made her writhe. She arched up, eyes gleaming with mischief as his prick tunneled through her wet lips instead of pushing inside.

With her hips she controlled the moist kiss of her pussy on the underside of his cock. His eyes rolled back, convinced he could come with just a few more rolls of her wicked-clever hips.

The idea of striping her white belly with his cum appealed to him. He could rub it into her skin, marking her with his essence and scent.

But that would require taking off his gloves and he would not do that.

Could not do that.

Rearing back, he fisted his dick, and with a single deliberate stroke he fed himself into her. Angled up he watched her greedy snatch take him inside, swallowing him body and soul.

A shiver danced across his nape, and he looked up. She was curled with her shoulders off the bed, watching him slowly push inside her, face strained and needy, white teeth pressed into her plump pink lip. All he wanted to do was to lean in and take a bite.

With a grunt he seated himself until the fabric of his uniform rubbed her clit, creating a wet spot that would smell of her long after it dried. He would put off washing his pants for as long as possible to keep her sweet scent to himself.

Waiting until he had her eyes, he flapped his cloak away, reared back and fucked into her hard, rocking the bed against the wall.

With every forceful thrust, her white breasts jiggled, snaring his gaze. Unable to resist, he released her hands, cupping her soft mounds and flicking her thumbs over the hard tips.

Obeying his unspoken command, she kept her hands above her head, tangling her fingers in the white, wrought-iron Crownguard-sigil forming the headboard. To reward her, he fucked her harder, prying sharp whimpers from deep inside her throat.

Sweat gathered along the base of his spine, sensitizing his overheated flesh, urging him to shed his clothing entirely. The fabric stuck to his skin, irritating a particular nasty scar slashing over his flexing buttocks.

He longed to be naked, sliding his hard body against her soft one, slathering her with his scent so every male would know who she took to her bed nightly. Who claimed her.

Again he damned himself for being defective. Life had damaged him, stealing pleasures he would never be able to indulge in.

He wanted to luxuriate in her silky skin, feel her soft breasts flatten against his chest, the rub of her nipples against his.

He wanted to sink down upon her and revel in her long limbs twining around him, pulling him close, urging him on.

As if she had heard, her thighs tightened around his plunging hips and his nerves screamed at him to jerk away, but her cunt was convulsing on his manhood and he could not bring himself to disappoint her. His body worked for her pleasure. She ached and he was driven to satisfy her, regardless of the pain to himself.

He thrust harder, faster, his balls drawing up tight before the exquisite burn rushed down his spine and out his cock.

She writhed beneath him, and through his own haze of ecstasy he watched her mouth work. He waited… waited, the pain of desperate expectation burning more intensely than his orgasm.

Nothing.

No _yes_. No _please_. Never _Talon_.

He drew out, leaving her panting and spent, his seed seeping down her slender thighs. Staring down at her with dispassionate eyes, he tucked himself back into his pants.

He watched her haze clear, her frantic breaths ease. He watched the challenge lighting her eyes and her mouth pressed flat, right before it turned into a barely noticeable, shy smile. He backed away from her light, from her hope, from the wordless invitation shining through her blue eyes.

She knew he wanted words, but she would not give them. Not until she had what she wanted in return. Never mind he had relented some this night.

Give her and inch, she would demanded a mile, without ever speaking a word.

* * *

He could smell her as he trained. Her cum saturated his gloves, tantalizing him with her scent as he flowed through his movements.

He had harmed many beings in his time. Murdered them mostly, but on rare occasions he had hurt creatures just to hurt them. Just to hear them squeal or watch them writhe.

It was cruelty, he supposed. The woman would say so, yet it was not like the creatures he hurt were innocent. They had been just as malicious as he.

The innocent he murdered quickly. It was not as if he did not have the stomach for torture. No, it was merely a matter of expedience. Why tarry with a creature when torture had no purpose?

The rape and discruciament on the battlefield held no appeal merely because he did not have the time for it. There was training to be had or other assignments to be accomplished. Time spent otherwise was wasteful.

He would be lying if he said he never hurt people off duty.

That he never hurt women.

Those women had been paid generously to take his blows, his slaps, and his whippings.

A man who had only received pain from touch only knew how to give pain back.

Until her.

He could not abide striping her alabaster skin with a whip marks or bruising her with his touch. Her body was so fragile. She was the most delicate, beautiful creature he had ever seen in all of his expansive travels. The thought of hurting her made his skin burn like the day he had been electrocuted.

He had known the moment he set eyes on her that she was different. That she would change his very existence, if only he let her. He did not wish for his life to change more than it already had, so he had tried to ignore her, belittle her, drive her off. He had killed her over and over again and had died evenly pointless deaths by her hand. But here, in the institute, seeing her every day, tortured by her overwhelming presence lingering in the halls, he was powerless to resist her allure.

And after having her, he did not want to.

He wanted her again and again, but he knew every time he visited her bed he hurt her. Not physically, never physically, yet every time he refused to hold her, touch her, let her hold him tight, she cried.

Never openly. She was too strong a woman to reveal the emotions roaring underneath her bright, placid surface, but he could see it in those hungry eyes of hers.

She deserved a man who could hold her.

The thought maddened him, but he was not able to deny its validity. She deserved a better man than he was.

Instead of realizing that, she continued to issue bright smiles and hold out her hand, and every time he did not meet any, she broke just a little more.

* * *

She was not in her room. Of course not, he had trailed her to the portals leading to Piltover, but not hazarded to follow through. Not with the blond explorer fluttering about her like a nervous puppy, daring to keep her wrist in a firm grasp. Touching her as if it was the easiest thing in the world. As if her kind smile did not stop the world from turning. As if there was no one lurking in the darkness, itching to kill the receiver of that smile. Before his phantasies could have painted the portal-zone crimson, Talon had turned away.

The moonlight shifted over her empty, cleanly made bed. Sinking into the shadows, he waited.

She tottered in smelling of cold cigarette smoke and sweet drinks. Buzzed, she did not turn on the light as she stripped off her flowing party dress, kicking her stilettoes toward the dark corner where he waited.

When she was naked, he lunged. She squeaked, whirling around to attack. He blocked her blow, grabbing her wrist to jerk her off balance and the light illuminating her fist snuffed out. She fell towards him but he dodged, only his grip keeping her upright.

Ignoring her mewls of protest, he towed her to the shower, shoving her inside after it warmed. He thrust a washcloth and her scented body wash into her arms in a wordless command to clean up.

He knew he was imagining things, but he wanted even the idea of other men off her. He was not able to make out any signs that she had taken another in between her thighs, but men surely had touched her, rubbed against her on the dance floor, touched what was _his_.

She looked at the pink bottle and the white washcloth, then notched that usually soft chin of hers, challenge a bonfire in her blue eyes.

He met her light with dead eyes. He would not relent and she would be punished for her defiance.

Her full mouth firmed as she looked straight into his eyes and deliberately dropped the items.

The washcloth fell to her feet with a wet plop, the bottle with a loud clatter, an aural challenge thrown down between them when words were disdained.

That she dared defy him sent a shaft of white hot anger through him, hardening his cock painfully.

Grabbing another bottle of shampoo off the shelf, he spun off the cap and dumped half the bottle over her head. The scent of coconuts assaulted him, along with her screech. He ignored her struggles as he spun her toward the wall, and roughly scrubbed her down with his hands.

Now, instead of her sweet honey, his gloves would stink like a fucking pool party-drink. Gritting his teeth, jaw flexing, his anger made him unusually rough with her.

She squirmed, but did not try to get away. She arched into his touch, thrusting out her perfectly rounded ass, and he could not help but to cup her between the legs from behind, fingertips sliding inside her.

Even through his leather glove her heat seeped into him, tugging him deeper, begging him for more.

In a soapy slide, his other hand glided over the hourglass dip of her waist. Cupping her soft breast, he pinched her turgid nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugging _hard._

She moaned, the sound loud over the rushing water, and rocked back into him.

Fuck him, she liked that. If the drenching of his glove was anything to go by, she liked it a lot.

The scented body wash rolled into his foot, reminding him she still needed to be punished for her defiance.

He wrenched the detachable shower head off the wall, using it to rinse her without mercy, ignoring her sputters as soap and water cascaded over her mouth and nose. As she coughed out water, he slid one hand around her throat, holding her in a possessive grip that she did not try to fight.

Flipping the shower head on pulse, he thrust it between her legs. With a strangled cry she arched, trying to escape the relentless stream of warm water on her most sensitive area. He trapped her against the wall with his body, letting her take solace in the hard length of him against her back while he forced her orgasm onto her.

When it hit, her scream ricocheted around the natural, stone-cut walls of her shower.

He showed no mercy when she slumped exhausted against him, evading the full-body contact at the last possible moment, but stabilizing her with one hand. It served him to have her half blinded and reliant on him like a baby hawk in tresses. Still sopping wet, he guided her with a hand at the back of her neck to her bedroom.

He bent her over the bed, head down, palms flat on the mattress, heels kicked apart.

The perfect submissive pose to receiving a whipping to her ass and thighs. His entire body tightened with denied lust at the explicit tableau she presented.

Still, he did not dare lay hands on the woman before him. Even an open handed spank from him could harm her, at the very least bruise her, and using a belt from the collection hanging from her closet door was absolutely out of the question no matter how pretty her white skin would look with pink lashes.

His indecision lasted too long and she mewled with frustration. His body reacted on a visceral level. His woman's dissatisfaction urged him to see to her before another male could horn in on what was his.

His hands would not do, but his gloves would. The leather was too soft to do any real harm, and no matter how hard he brought them down on her disobedient little ass, they would only sting her.

At the soft shushing sound as he peeled off the gloves, she turned her head, eyes widening and lips parting at the sight of his bare hands.

He growled in reprimand, bringing the leather down on the outside of her hip. She squeaked, jumping away. His free hand curled into a fist with the urge to grab her hip and reposition her, but without the protective leather he was incapable of touching her.

No, he had to issue the demand with his eyes. A silent challenge daring her to take what he gave her.

He brought the gloves down on her other hip. She jumped slightly, but took it without protest, dropping her head between her arms in consent.

Primal satisfaction ripped through him so great he wanted to tip her head to the side and bite his claim into her throat for anyone to see.

He brought the gloves down over her flesh, pinking her lush little ass and slender thighs. Sweat beaded her back, tempting him to lean over and lap it up with a long, languorous lick. The dimples at the bottom of her spine, right above her ass, glistened in the moonlight, daring him to dip his tongue into them and taste the water trapped there.

Taking a deep breath, he laid his bare hand on her naked back, spreading his fingers wide to feel as much of her satin skin as possible. At the same time, he flicked his gloves between her legs in a stinging slap.

The moan that ripped from her raw throat was louder than any that came before. Her thighs quaked with the strength of her orgasm.

He wondered if his touch had any bearing on its intensity.

It certainly affected him.

Electricity shot up his arm, originating at every contact point of his skin against hers. He expected it to burn, to hurt, instead it set all his nerve endings alight with pleasure.

His skin, a shivering glove of ecstasy from head to toe, tingled with long denied pleasure. His balls drew up tight, his cock weeping and ready, until he nearly shot in his pants.

Just from touching that small patch of skin on her lower back. Instantly, he wanted to mark her there, brand her with his ownership with his name-rune.

Mark her and own her for eternity.

He rushed to free his dick, shoving into her so hard, her knees buckled onto the mattress. Grabbing her hips so she could not get away, he fucked his cock into her tight snatch. She moaned as his fingers dug into her.

Encouraged, he slid one bare hand up her back to her shoulder.

"Yes."

His hips stuttered, nearly losing their rhythm.

Reward by her single word, his hands roamed her back, exploring every silken inch and setting himself on fire. It became nearly unbearable to keep touching her, but her moans and whimpers egged him on, driving him forward until finally her wet pussy clutched him, convulsing and pulling his orgasm out of him.

At the last moment he pulled out, striping her back with his hot cum. His teeth glittered white in the shadows as he rubbed it into her flesh with his bare hands. He paid special attention to the span between her dimples, drawing his name-rune on her back in his cum.

* * *

This training hall was mostly abandoned, that was why Talon liked it so much. Residing as a champion at the Institute of War had its perks. Small and deserted as it was, only Katarina and him frequented this well-equipped room. Anyone else ever stumbling upon it had been reminded to not find it ever again.

Yet, _she _strolled in, wearing a loose white dress and an expression usually only present at night.

He opened his mouth to protest, to tell her to fuck off. This was not their time, their realm, but challenge lit her eyes, silencing him as if it were after dusk.

Chin notched high, she unzipped her dress, shrugging it off. His mouth went dry, eyes hungrily roaming over the expanse of her naked skin, so pale it glowed ethereally in the artificial light.

He had not taken her outside of moonlight before. Never had the luxury of perusing her every perfection.

He supposed she had flaws, but he was not able to see them. Her full breasts taunted him, their pouty, pink nipples tilted slightly upward. Her long graceful limbs, the thatch of blonde curls between her legs.

Perfection, all of it.

She sauntered up to him playfully and dropped to her knees at his feet. Everything inside him drew up tight, his cock coming to an instant salute.

She reached for his training pants, jerking them down before he was able to gauge the situation, before he was able to stop her. His cock sprang up, more than ready to receive what she was offering.

He fisted his hand in her shimmering hair, stopping her from claiming her prize, arching her back and neck so that her pale lips, shiny from her tongue and her lipstick, were parted.

This was an act he never permitted. It left him too vulnerable. He liked his women pinned down where he could hold their arms or better yet from behind so he could see their every move. Long ago he had learned to never open himself to an attack, especially during the most intimate of acts.

She strained against his grip, her tongue swiping against the ruddy head of his cock. He shuddered, his fingers loosening in her hair so they caressed instead of restrained. He could stop her of course. He had his blades close by. But he was weak against her will, the flame of her desire. And, yay gods, he wanted her. Wanted her mouth upon him. Wanted her beneath him, astride him, all around him in every manner imaginable.

"Please." She licked her lips and he was nearly undone.

_His woman should never have to beg for anything. _Her desires should be met before they were glimmer in her mind.

His hand fell away, watching with fascination as she swallowed him.

Fuck Piltover's Profit. Her mouth was hot and wet. The only thing better was being buried in her tight cunt.

Her tongue licked over the head of his cock and his head dropped back on his neck. He gazed at the metal support struts latticing the ceiling of the training room, knowing keen disappointment that it was not the familiar pattern of his room in a familiar mansion in Noxus.

Dipping his head, he was enthralled with the picture she made kneeling at his feet. Luminous blue eyes and shiny lipstick.

She took him deep, leaving a pale ring around the base of his cock that he never wanted to wash off.

Her brand on him, marking him as hers.

When she looked up at him with her beautiful eyes, as deep and mysterious as the ocean, he was helpless not to touch her.

Already addicted to her special kind of burn, he tugged his gloves off with his teeth, plunging his bare hands into her silky hair. He had wondered at its texture, and now he knew his imaginings were not even close to the truth. The heavy, silken mass wound its way around his fingers like it owned him.

Somehow, having his hands buried in her hair felt more illicit and intimate than if they were completely naked.

He would not finish in her mouth, tempting though it may be. He needed to be in her tight heat.

But how? On her hands and knees? Even now he rebelled against her kneeling on the hard floor. With a hand at her elbow, he hauled her onto her feet, gasping as his aching cock fell from her mouth.

Face to face, eyes on her swollen lips, wet with his precum and her spit, all he could think of was the night he had taken her, thrusting between her thighs, looking her in the eye as she came apart around his cock.

He could do that again. Lay her down on the floor, spread her legs and plunge inside her. Take his pleasure while the cold stone floor chilled her perfect flesh until she was shivering with something other than ecstasy.

No, that would not do either. Drawing her close, cupping her luscious ass in his palms, he boosted her up, flaring his cloak as to get it out of the way. Natural instinct had her twining those long legs of hers around his hips before the leather gracefully returned to its resting position, her arms about his neck.

The astonishment on her face nearly made the sudden onset of claustrophobia worth her touch, but it was the erotic pleasure of sinking into her wetness, while drowning in her eyes that banished his unease.

Not completely, but bearably.

In two steps he had them against the wall. To keep her safe from the chill he had to wrap his arms around her back, sheltering her deep in his body.

She acquiesced to his embrace with a hitch and a sigh, the feminine submission driving him to give her more. He wanted to tear off his shirt so when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, wound them under his cloak, it was only his skin she felt. He wanted to feel her hard, red nipples dragging against his bare chest as he pushed himself into her.

Unable to take what he so desperately wanted, he fucked her furiously, barely resisting the urge to bury his face in her shoulder when he came with a hiss.

* * *

He watched her now. Continuously. Relentlessly.

He wanted her.

Needed her.

Yet he denied himself. He had given her too much and now she wanted everything. He could see it in her eyes. Those mysterious, enchanting windows to her soul that demanded he be a better man.

Something he could never do, not even for her. He was too damaged. Too violent. He knew only pain. Only how to give and receive it.

Yet, she found pleasure in his touch.

Could he find pleasure in hers?

Staring down at her while she slept, blankets thrown aside, naked in welcome, even though he had not visited her in days, he thought he might be able to overcome his nature.

When her eyes blinked open to stare up at him, her gaze slowly clearing from sleep's haze, he knew he could overcome anything for her.

Deliberately, he shifted his hood away from his face, taking an unnatural glee in the widening of her eyes. He tugged the ties of his cloak loose before she recovered. The sound of leather sinking to the floor was nearly inaudible, followed by a quiet 'thud' as his shirt followed straight.

Chest bare, his hands hovered over the fly of his pants. Her eyes lifted to his. He expected a bright, hopeful challenge. Instead, he saw understanding. Maybe pity? She raised her hand, welcoming him to her bed any way she could have him.

He would not have his woman pity him. He would not allow her to lower herself to accept a pitiable, broken male to her bed. As a queen she deserved more. She deserved everything he could be.

He kicked his pants off, almost smirking at the shock suffusing her face. Her legs parted as he crawled over her until she was caged beneath him. Hands hovering over his chest, she shot him a questioning glance. When he did not move to pin her wrists, she slowly, with such deliberate care that it nearly broke something inside him, pressed her palms to his bare chest.

His hissed inhalation was masked by the sibilant moan from her lips. "Yes," she chanted, writhing with pleasure at just touching him.

Reacting on instinct, he dipped to the side, pulling her up so she draped over him, giving her free rein to every inch of him. Like the warrior she was, she pressed the advantage, sliding her hands over the hills and grooves of his body, memorizing them as if she would never have another chance to touch him unfettered.

He clenched his jaw, keeping his eyes on her face to ground himself to the moment. He feared that if he lost himself, allowed the panic and feral instinct to overwhelm him, he would lash out and hurt her irreparably. Talon could live with his many sins, but never with harming her. So he watched her face, the mosaic of wonder and awe that flowed through her and into him. She calmed the raging in his soul, soothed the burning of his skin with every sweep of her hand.

He reared up, wrapping his arms around her back so she could never escape him. His hard dick furrowed between her pussy lips, the swollen vein on the underside of his cock pulsing against her clit in the same rhythm as his frantically beating heart.

Seated in his lap, her face rose a few inches above his, allowing her to stare into his eyes, the intense incandescence of her look making him want to slink away into some dark corner where monsters like him deserved to live.

She cupped his face in her palms and he nearly screamed in the agony of it. He hid his pain as he always did, behind a dispassionate mask and damning eyes. She leaned forward, and he panicked, knowing she wanted to press her petal-soft lips to his.

He thrust his face into the hollow between her neck and shoulder, inhaling her sweet honey scent. Her hands bunched in his messy curls of hair, trying and failing to pull him away so she could bestow her soul-giving kiss on him.

"Please," she begged, and he broke inside.

She should never have to beg, but this he could not give her. It was beyond his power. Beyond his strength.

Try as he might, he could not completely overcome himself for her.

Clutching her tight until her breath stuttered, he lifted her up, reveling in the slip and slide of her breasts against his chest, and plunged into her, driving all her desire to feel her lips on his out of her mind.

Hands on her hips, nearly encircling her waist, he fucked her perfect, wet cunt. Her hands curled over his shoulders, her sharp nails digging into him, balancing the pain and pleasure. He thrust into her, the head of his cock hitting places he had never touched before. She threw her head back, the cascade of her long blonde hair brushing over his thighs.

Her nipples were red and abraded from rubbing against his chest, and he took one in his mouth, tasting the salt from his body on her. Satisfied that he covered her in all ways, coated in his sweat and soon his cum, he owned her, like she owned him. He sucked hard, and she screamed, her walls clamping down on his dick until he thought he might never be able to separate himself from her.

And for a moment, while he emptied himself into her convulsing pussy, he violently wished that he would never have to leave her. He could be cursed to be frozen in this moment for eternity, every agonized inch of him, wrapped around every delighted inch of her, and he would be utterly, unendingly happy.

* * *

Nothing changed.

He ignored her at day and they fucked at night.

They did not talk. _She_ did not talk. Did not engage in that overly emotional bullcrap some females tended toward when you stuck your dick in them.

She accepted him as he was.

Even the lack of his kisses.

As much as it pained her. Hurt her. Devastated her. She accepted his lack of kisses.

The woman did not cling. Did not know the meaning of it. Fiercely intelligent, creative, involved in her country's politics with a brother to call family, it became clear… She Did Not Need Him.

Watching her on the veranda, surrounded by foreign sophisticates who leered down the bodice of her long, flowing dress in the colors of Demacia, during some society luncheon the Institute demanded she participate in, Talon felt he might be the clingy one.

All he wanted to do was storm over, scatter her bloodless admirers, and claim her as his, the worthiest female on all of Runeterra.

Then it occurred to him, that he, Talon Du Couteau, the Blade's Shadow, ruthless Noxian assassin and one of the world's greatest blademasters, had every right to claim her whenever, wherever he pleased.

The women squealed as he passed. The men lost all color to their faces. His presence was never expected at those kind of events. But when the woman turned to watch him crash through the crowd like the force of nature he was, the sharp ends of his cloak dispersing the few who had not fled his burning gaze, she merely smiled – that mysterious curling at the corners of her lips that invited any brave enough to uncover all her secrets and embrace her as she was.

As Talon halted in front of her, losing himself in the depthless ocean of her eyes, he knew that a lifetime would never be enough to uncover all her mysteries, but he was more than up to the challenge.

He palmed her nape, pulling her soft body into his hard one, shrugging half of his cloak to cover her back. As always she acquiesced to him, prompting the beast inside to roar and beat its chest.

He leaned close, so there would be no mistaking his intent, the crowd vanishing at the edges as they submersed into their personal domain.

"Mine," he whispered, his breath a caress on her lips.

The smile she gifted him was bright enough to banish most of the darkness in his soul. Her words demolished the rest.

"Yes, please, Talon."

The deep, soul licking kiss they shared announced to all and sundry that they claimed each other, the words they spoke unnecessary in the face of their wordless devotion.


End file.
